


Like a Nickelodeon of a Lifetime

by Zen_monk



Series: Those Kids from Nibelheim [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Family Feels, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Implied Relationships, Past Relationship(s), Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:50:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zen_monk/pseuds/Zen_monk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vincent Valentine and Veld, post Dirge of Cerberus, and a cameo with Shelke and Tifa. After all that has happened, Veld takes the time now to look for Vincent one of these nights? Time has displaced them, and it's like looking at people you knew wearing masks of their fathers. </p><p>Birthday present for kingofbeartraps, on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Nickelodeon of a Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingofbeartraps](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kingofbeartraps).



It was a quiet night in Seventh Heaven. It’s the middle of the week and a cloudy night. Curfew would be enacted soon, and by then all the lights would systematically turn off when the night shift would punch out their clocks and hang up their hats for the evening. First to go would be the outer sprawl of Edge; then, the industrial area where new factories and production lines were set up nearly half a year ago; the city lights lining the streets would go out section by section, as though the city is made of rings like an onion and not the slices of sectors that made up the pie in the sky that old Abel Shin-Ra had envisioned for his fledging company just a few decades ago. It didn’t really feel like even a decade has passed for Vincent, who had been allured to Shin-ra’s promises when he wasn’t even twenty years old, and it’s hard to think that the time and place he was living in now was the fruit of Shin-ra’s efforts.

It would be eleven o’clock soon, and the patrons are shuffling out from the bar. Vincent leaned in a corner booth, a glass of wine half-full at arm’s reach, his cloak neatly folded next to him where he placed his left leg atop it like a pillow his back against the wall,. If Cid were around, he’d reach out a hand for a smoke and the pilot would begrudge it to him. He watched Tifa go from oil lamp to oil lamp that hang on the walls like a practical man’s sconce in an impractical mansion, bangle equipped with a glimmering materia, and snap her fingers for spark to light them up. Shelke and Denzel are going around the tables with tubs in their arms for one last round, dishes sparse and dirty glasses clinking, and moist towels hanging off their aprons. Marlene upstairs is fast asleep, tucked in by Cloud who had just come back and most likely be out like a light on his bed right now. It’s close to May Day, and citizens in Kalm are in dire need of quick luxuries and supplies for festivities, for bolts of cloth and bits of timber. Edge is too dreary still for festivities, and it still maintains a tense expectation of more wrong-doing to come. Hard to blame the sentiment, thought Vincent, for Omega’s shadow has yet to dissipate in the sky.

It would have been half a year by now. Between placing Omega up in the heavens and purging Chaos from his body, Vincent started to count time almost like a regular person. Almost, because he still has a pervasive feeling of being displaced, aware of its passing but feeling sometimes like he’s still asleep, when if he blinks at one moment, suddenly a year has passed. A simple doze, and ten years are gone. If he started from a unsettling dream, it would be that thirty years has passed and he’s awake in a place he doesn’t quite know and only the most basic bearing of his situation.

The bell above the door jingled merrily. The hinges creaked.

“Good evening there,” said Tifa, a lazy smile on her lips. Denzel and Shelke are behind the counter loading dishes in the dishwasher. A part-timer who looked to be hailed from Wutai was counting inventory by the register, she being too absorbed in the task to take much notice at the person by the door.

“Am I too late for last call?” An inquiring voice, but a tad on the harsh side. Its sound stirred something within Vincent and he sat up from his reclining position and scooted closer to the edge.

“Mmm,” Tifa deliberated. “If you’re fine with just the one beer, then I think we can accommodate you.”

Tifa was facing away from him, but it’s evident from the casual warmth in her voice and the way the man smiled at her that she was using that casual, lazy smile that happens at the end of the day when she doesn’t know it. It would take a hard person to not be affected, and Vincent allowed himself a slight smirk when the man at the doorway briefly quirked the corners of his lips upwards before bringing a darkly gloved hand up to cough discretely.

“I’m just about to close up, but don’t feel too rushed to drink away.”

He tilted his head down a bit and went for the bar. Vincent brought his drink to his lips and waited.

“One domestic coming right up,” said the part-timer. She filled the glass to the brim, the foam dangerously close to spill over, and placed it on a coaster on the bar.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll sit at a booth.”

“You’re the boss.”

Vincent tilted his glass up and downed the remains. With eyes closed, he heard hard boots approaching closer to him. He set the glass down just as the man slid into the seat across from him.

“…Drinking fancy now, are we?”

“Feeling plebian, aren’t you?” retorted Vincent. He looked at him with level eyes, waiting for him to follow the script.

“I suppose that any decent alcohol that doesn’t come from a bathtub is a luxury in and of itself,” Veld conceded, breaking eye contact and the game to reach inside his coat.

Vincent sighed, himself not feeling up to banter. He watched Veld place a cigarette between his lips and fumbled with a lighter. He noted that it was one of the cheaper, plastic kinds that go into neon colors. He found it very lacking.

Vincent got out of his seat and went to the lamp across the room. He went back to a staring Veld, unscrewed the top and the glass, and offered the flame to him. Veld leaned forward to catch the light on the end, and Vincent noticed the shadow of a beard around his face, small criss-crosses of white scars around near the base of his neck, and that the shadows caused by the materia-made fire made the crow’s feet around the eyes look even deeper.

Veld inhaled deeply and blew the smoke above them. “So, what have you done since I last saw you?”

“Trying my hand at being a productive member of society.”

“I suppose on average you’ve done more sleeping than actual doing, so I’ll take that as a good sign.”

“Still bitter that I didn’t get out of the coffin when you found me?”

“I like to remind others’ of their shortcomings, especially when it’s done by their own hand.”

Vincent merely “hmm”-ed, and placed the glass at the end of the table. Without any other prop to distract himself, Vincent was resigned to pay attention to Veld. His former partner- (longtime friend, brother in the field and comrades-in-the-bush, fellow spell-checker)- was a collection of well-fitted clothing and a face that had over the missing time was loosened by wrinkles around the eyes and the jaw. Some hair had receded around the hairline, and there were two worry lines deeply set on the forehead. The temples have a faded look to it, like being washed too harshly for too long. Veld brought his left hand up to take another drag; a gloved hand that had the thumb and first two fingers being bare, and the right being all covered in black leather. Veld didn’t look too self-conscious, but he wasn’t meeting his eyes either, and it’s obvious to see the awkwardness of his right arm when he moves his shoulders to relax.

Vincent leaned back almost to a slouch in his seat. He didn’t break his observation when the part-timer came up to place an ashtray near Veld’s elbow and to pick up the glass to refill it with wine.

“Take your time, sirs,” said the woman.

“It’s not often to see a bar owner so lenient,” remarked Veld, possibly to Vincent, possibly to the woman.

“It’s busier in the center of the city,” she replied. “And she’s thoughtful of her people.”

After topping off, she went back to the bar and left them alone.

“I knew that you became a layabout,” Veld said immediately, shocking Vincent who had his glass midway to his mouth. “Taking advantage of female proprietors right after saving the world… some things never change,” lamented Veld.

“It was too much to hope for Junon’s city council to leave empty property well enough alone. I blame the economy for them repossessing my house.”

“You can blame your friends for contributing to Junon’s demolished cannon. As well as Sapphire WEAPON.”

“…still keeping tabs on notorious anti-Shinra activists, then? Good to know that you never let things go, even if it’s out of habit,” said Vincent.

“Neither do you, watching the news doesn’t count as ‘keeping tabs.’”

“I hope Tifa knew what kind of person she hired…” mumbled Vincent while taking a sip. His eyes wandered over to the aforementioned friend, who stood at the front door with keys jingling in hand and the sound of a lock being set in place. “Oops, she’s on to you.”

“There’s a side door across the room.”

“So you have been here before.”

“Almost a waste of time, that was. I don’t think anyone here, Tuesti and Strife included, who’d have thought that you went shacking up in a cave.”

“Almost?”

“…To see what legacy that Elfe had left behind…”

Eyes lowered and drinking became a new priority. Veld downed his, foam and all, to Vincent’s quiet shock; he only knew the man to not want to waste his time drinking swill, even if Tifa had decent lager on hand. The sound of a tinny piano filled the empty room. It was then only Tifa and Shelke left in the vicinity, part-timer notwithstanding, and both were at the small upright that was only a little off-tune near the middle of the wall opposite him. Barret had found it during a day of scavenging in former Wall Market. Tifa sat on the bench while Shelke observed by the side. The music was aimless at first, some tentative tries. In the continuing silence, it found a narrative voice that wasn’t unlike the pianist that plays to a silent film in the dark next to the screen. It adds something to a place where it’s only gaslight and oil lamps that brightens the interiors, not unlike pubs in Junon when the ocean fogs rolls in thick and yellow.

Veld rubbed the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray, almost too hard.

“Good to know you’re still socializing,” he grumbled.

“You’re leaving now?”

“The place is closed.”

“She knows about you. As do Strife.”

“…I knew I should have placed a more secretive plant here.”

“The booze here pries open tight lips. And I wouldn’t have guessed it until you came here.”

“You’ve gotten dusty, Valentine. You would have seen it a mile away.”

“Did I?” said Vincent, voice a little harder. The piano stopped for a moment, and he feared that his voice carried too far into the room. But then it was Tifa repeating a few keys, and then the silent movie music resumed.

Veld thought for a moment before speaking. “It’s good to know that you’re with good people.”

“Is that all?”

“No.” Veld held his gaze and what was avoided during the conversation was brought to the forefront between both men. He met Vincent’s eyes with his and both were challenged the other with their stare. When old friends meet again after a long period of time, they always look for the changes- to see what has remained and what was gone. Veld’s furtive glances didn’t go unnoticed, and it must have been so disconcerting to see a man who hasn’t changed so much physically since the last time they had met. And Vincent saw the Veld he knew underneath the assortment of wrinkles and sun spots and patches of dried skin. Even if there was a prosthetic for an arm- and Shin-ra as a whole seem to have made it a habit to ensure long-living people don’t go on unscathed and without sacrificing a limb or two- the mannerisms in which he tapped his cigarette with it was still the same. He could only speculate what Veld would make of his all-black attire and long flowing cloak and unkempt hair, long and bedraggled at times.

“…You must think that I’m going through a phase, Veld,” Vincent said at last.

“Are we talking about these pop psychologists going on about ‘paradigm-shifting’ phases like a mid-life crisis, or I might as well go out and say that you look like you’ve discovered industrial punk music like you’re your own teenage brat?”

Vincent propped his right elbow on the table and covered his face with his hand, smothering his laughter. He couldn’t stop his mirth from making him double over the table, or the self-deprecating bleakness, but it was an invitation to air out their own difficult grievances and he feared it would be liberating.

“Did you went through your own mid-life crisis? The usual fears, like becoming your own father and the like?”

Veld tilted his head back and groaned. “You of all people would just know, wouldn’t you?”

“You know, you’re starting to look like your father. All you need is some field-worker’s clothes and I wouldn’t tell the difference.”

“I knew it,” declared Veld, “You’re not Vincent. You’re his bratty kid. I’m leaving.” He made to leave from the booth, sliding out from the seat and straightening his coat. His light smile, though, prompted Vincent to grab reach out and grab his elbow to stop him.

“Wait. Are you going to come by again?”

“A clingy brat, too.”

“I know that this isn’t just a random courtesy call. Otherwise, you would have been around when Reeve asked to meet me in Kalm last year. Or any moment when Deepground was involved.”

“The concept of retirement seems to have escaped you, like most young folks.”

“Old-timers like us don’t retire. And in case you’re wondering, I thought about looking for you.”

“Things have changed since I saw you in your coffin. Instead of sleeping back in, you went hiding out in a cave, a fact that I’ve only discovered secondhand from Reeve and his Wutai ‘spy’ network,” chided Veld, pulling his arm away but not moving away from Vincent.

“…I wasn’t just in a cave,” muttered Vincent.

Veld breathed deeply through his nose, his expression softening and looking more like an adult that Veld from their days couldn’t achieve during their partnership. Vincent wondered if he had ever achieved that level of maturity that only comes from personal sacrifice and long-held dealings with people.

“…I have people of my own to keep safe. To keep safe and to understand,” said Veld. He looked at Vincent and the time-displaced ex-Turk saw a lifetime in them.

“You’ve experienced the first of many Shin-ra sins, one which I am as much of a devil’s advocate to as well as the perpetrator of them,” continued Veld. “I thought by now the dreams we had are dried up as dust, and so I find out that people don’t stay dead and it frightened me. Not until… I saw my daughter again. Elfe. I… I guess you didn’t know I had one. And a wife. One that I might as well have killed with my own hands.” His voiced trailed off in the midst of recollection, and the pain was palpable and familiar to Vincent. The piano music hits a few sour notes, and there was tentative refrains to correct it and the music flowed again.

“I lost a lifetime without you, and did it again with my family,” said Veld. “Then I got Elfe back and it wasn’t so frightening. There was information about you, and so I went for it. And all I got out of it was that you suddenly became a grunge poser with a vamp fetish.”

Vincent was the first to notice Shelke sauntering over to them with hands behind her back, all the image of an inquisitive maiden, though it appeared that Veld hadn’t, with his back facing towards her.

“It is not often that you have personal visitors, Vincent Valentine,” said she upon reaching the booth. Veld visibly jumped at the sound of her voice and looked down sharply at the girl. Vincent smiled wickedly at that.

“…and neither had I the experience of seeing such a frightening face,” continued Shelke.

“To what to do we owed the pleasure of your company, Shelke?” asked Vincent.

“I came over to remind you all that the bar is closed,” she answered, her voice even and unperturbed. “Tifa is stacking chairs now, and Yinping is bringing out the mop.”

Vincent looked back at the bar and indeed, the part-timer was rolling out the bucket by the mop handle.

Shelke looked up at Veld, who hadn’t lifted his gaze away from her, and Vincent looked between the two of them to gauge their reactions; Shelke, with her usual cool impassivity, and Veld with his carefully concealed face as to not bely the discomfort around his eyes.

After a moment, Shelke said to them both, while not leaving her eyes off of Veld, “I suppose this nonplussed gentlemen is your friend. Not surprisingly, seeing as the long-held director of the Department of Administrative Research would have lived long enough to be your peer.”

“…I’m beginning to think this bar houses all of Shin-ra’s science projects,” said Veld at last, more out of weariness and not out of ill-intent.

“It has been a long time, Director,” greeted Shelke. “I had only assumed from my time spent in net-diving that you were deceased, as reports have stated. Like many things in Shin-ra, it is more difficult to tell the truth from the lies.”

Veld made a fleeting smile at Shelke and said to Vincent, “Part of the reason why I delayed looking for you was that it’s hard to see past mistakes. Such as for this young lady. Shelke. It’s good to see you, too.”

He made a small bow at Shelke, shared a meaningful glance at Vincent, and walked away from them to exit at the side door.

The music had stopped and the busy sounds of floors being cleaned and furniture being set aside reigns the atmosphere. Vincent looked for Tifa, who was in the middle of the room, and caught her eye. She flashed a brief smile and an inquiring look at him and he nodded his head at her.

He looked at Shelke, whose gaze was steady and thoughtful.

“Will he visit the bar again?”

“Perhaps.”

“Shall I interrogate Yinping for answers?”

“Not yet. The part-timer might be our actual physical link to Veld. Best not to sever that by forcing the issue.” 


End file.
